


Snow and Falling

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight





	Snow and Falling

Doyle lay on his back, feeling the ice beneath him even through four layers, feeling feathers of snow around his fingers, feeling his feet dangling in the nothingness of the four storey drop to the ground. Somewhere, Angus Mackenzie was no doubt slowing to a jog and disappearing comfortably into the night, and Cowley was not going to be happy.

He closed his eyes, listened to the muffled thud of Bodie's footsteps as he hauled himself up the ancient stairs, paused in the doorway, and then leapt onto the roof; the distant sound of sparse traffic on the streets, and over it all the beat-beat of his own heart.

" _Doyle_!" The muffled steps became louder, then heavier as Bodie must have spotted him, crunching and squeaking closer in the snow. Faster.

Fuck.

He opened his eyes, craned his head backwards. "Watch out, it's slippery!"

The footsteps faltered, and Doyle saw the moment that Bodie spotted him, his frozen fear lasting less than a heartbeat, reflexes quick as ever as he realised that Doyle might be stretched out in the snow, but that he was still alive, and talking. 

"Busy?" Bodie stomped over, looked down at him, and Doyle closed his eyes again.

"Oh, you know..." He should get up, he knew he should get up. If nothing else he was starting to shiver.

His feet, his legs, still hung into the cold, thin air, and he could feel the stone edge of the building, sharp and remorselessly solid, against his thighs. If he opened his eyes he'd see the stars, stabbing bright and clear from the night sky, and he'd see the outline of the metal rail that had been too high to save him, that he'd have made a last desperate grab for, if he hadn't managed to press and clutch hard enough through the snow and ice to the harsh bitumen of the roofing, and arrest his slide just in time.

He'd leave his eyes closed for just a moment more.

More careful scrunching, and then he could _feel_ that Bodie was crouched down beside him, was looking at him, and he didn't care. Just lie down, safe on the roof, for a moment more.

"Mackenzie?"

"Must have chains on his boots," he managed. "He was halfway across by the time I got up here - went down the fire escape by the other corner."

"Bloody... Scots."

Doyle still didn't open his eyes, but he wasn't going to let him get away with that one. "Coming over here, taking our jobs..."

"Yeah alright, alright." Angus Mackenzie was from Dundee, and as black as anyone they'd seen. "But he still got away while you were lying down on the job."

"Yeah..." He really did have to move. He'd sit up carefully, then he'd be able to reach up and hold onto the railing to pull himself to his feet. Easy. Safe. "D'y'ever think you might be getting too old for this lark?"

Bodie shifted beside him, and without looking Doyle could see him, his face smooth and serious for a moment, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks, because Bodie had _long_ eyelashes, was... not pretty, but... he had long eyelashes. And he'd be thinking of something to say that'd make Doyle laugh instead of shake with fear, and his eyes would crinkle just a little at the corners when he did, and his lips would quirk upwards, and his whole face would light up. Bodie'd smile in the snow, and then he'd say it, and Doyle could smile too, and then he could get up.

_D'y'ever think you might like to see old age after all?_

But Bodie didn't say anything, instead there were suddenly two hands grasping his, cold hands, he thought, through the sudden prickling pain of it, Bodie was cold too, and then he was sliding easily backwards, pulled away from the drop, far away from the edge, away to safety. Memory flashed at him; Bodie pulling him like this before, in the bowling alley when that tall bastard had floored him, he remembered the feel of Bodie's limbs wrapped around him, Bodie's leg entwined with his, Bodie's arm around his shoulder and hand on his chest, of being enfolded in _Bodie_.

This time he wasn't allowed to stay sprawled on the ground, instead Bodie let go of his hands, grasped the collar of his jacket, and hauled him to his feet. Doyle staggered with the speed of it, his legs stupidly shaky, steadied himself with his own hands on Bodie's chest. Bodie's coat was open so he could reach his holster, and through the layers of wool and warmth, Doyle could feel the rise and fall of Bodie's breath, the steady pounding of his heart. 

"You're bleeding." Bodie's arm moved to encircle his waist, to hold him upright, and he lifted one of Doyle's hands, held him lightly but firmly around his wrist, so that they could both see the streaks and scrapes, raw and black in the weak light from the stairwell. 

"Twisted me leg an' all," he confessed, feeling it twinge now that he was trying to put weight on it. 

"Could have been worse," Bodie said, not letting go of him, so that they stood, in the cold night, legs together, arms together, pressed close _together_ all the way up. Doyle fancied that if he closed his eyes again, if he turned his head just _so_ , he might even feel Bodie's breath on his face, Bodie's lips against his own, and wouldn't that be something...

...something odd.

He shook his head slightly. He was still alive, Bodie was alive beside him, and they were going to get another bollocking from the Cow over this one. 

"I could have gone right over," he agreed, pulling back slightly, ignoring the twinge of reluctance somewhere deep inside, telling himself it _wasn't_ regret, not that, it couldn't be. "But you know what Cowley'll say about it all..."

Bodie didn't let go of him, and they turned together and staggered towards the stairs and the light and the comparative warmth. Bodie's arm tightened around his waist, still held him close, and when they spoke it was together, already half-laughing, because it was all done for another night, it was nearly time to go home, and he hadn't fallen, not yet, not quite, not really.

" _'s no excuse, Doyle, snow excuse at all..._ "

 

_January 2010_


End file.
